Obsessed with metrics who we are is lost
among conflicting maps that sum us up
when we have answered endless questions tossed
to tease our truth to fill a numbing cup.

Consumed by pilgrim hopes for souls adrift
whose sad departures from their birthing bones
found chance would downcast soon as would uplift,
we lease our truth, a gem that no one owns.

Beset by calls to keep the common way,
tradition frozen by deep fear of change,
if we can warm the mercury and sway
with hope, our truth will future rearrange.

Within us is a crying out for peace
to see the good spread wide, the bad decrease.

~ Robert Stone, 10 November 2016